


Just Thursday

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how far Kurt stretches, he is met with cool, crisp sheets entirely empty of his boyfriend. Futurefic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Thursday

Kurt is warm and comfortable as he slowly drifts up from a deep sleep. He feels relaxed and surprisingly rested, something he’s not used to these days with the amount of work that piles up each time he blinks, like the antithesis of those shoe-making fairy tale elves. It’s a very welcome change. He snuffles his nose into the pillow, breathing in the familiar scents of their detergent and Blaine, and reaches out blindly with his foot in search of Blaine’s warm leg.

No matter how far he stretches, he is met with cool, crisp sheets entirely empty of his boyfriend.

It’s then that Kurt realizes that the light filtering in through his still-closed eyelids is not the soft purple-grey of early sunrise in the city but the bright, clear yellow of mid-morning. His eyes snap open with alarm, and he immediately looks at the clock to see what time it is and exactly how late he is for his internship, from which he will probably now be fired when he arrives.

There is a thick piece of paper folded over and obscuring the display on the clock, and on it are a few lines of Blaine’s spiky handwriting. _Sleep as late as you want. Andrea says it’s fine; I cleared it with her a week ago. Ring the bell when you’re up for the day._ Then there’s a lopsided heart and an arrow pointing to Kurt’s egg timer, which instead of sitting on the stove is perched on the nightstand next to the clock.

A part of Kurt wants to close his eyes and snuggle back under the duvet, but now he’s curious about what’s going on, because Blaine was supposed to have work today, too. Besides, maybe he can convince Blaine to crawl back into bed with him. He reaches out and sets the timer to ten seconds.

As soon as it buzzes Kurt hears movement outside the bedroom door, and Blaine pokes his head in.

“Good morning,” Blaine says. His hair is still rumpled from sleep and he’s in the sweatpants and t-shirt he wears as pajamas, but he looks perky, like he’s been up for a bit. “Coffee?”

“Always,” Kurt says with a smile.

“Okay. You go do your morning routine, and I’ll bring it in here when you’re done.”

“I can just come to the kitchen,” Kurt says.

Blaine shakes his head. “Your coffee is being served in here today.”

“But - “

“In here.”

Kurt knows by now that there’s no shifting Blaine when he’s in one of his moods, so he just says, “Okay.” He stretches his arms over his head, enjoying the way Blaine’s eyes darken as they linger on his chest, and then gets out of bed as Blaine slips back out of the door.

He cuts his routine short, because if he has the day off from work he’d rather crawl back into bed while it’s still warm and he’s still sleepy. He can always make up for it with extra moisturizing after his shower. When he comes back the egg timer is gone, the covers have been straightened and pulled back, and his pillows have been fluffed to perfection. He slips under the duvet and closes his eyes with a contented sigh. He’s been bone-deep tired for so long from the never-ending pressures of school and his internship that even with a good night’s sleep his body aches with the desire to be completely at rest.

Kurt hears soft footsteps, and he opens his eyes to see Blaine peering in the doorway.

“I thought you might have fallen back asleep,” Blaine says, shouldering the door open and carrying in Kurt’s favorite carved wooden tray, the one that usually houses his sketching supplies. At the moment it is covered with a folded dish towel, on top of which rest a plate of multigrain toast and Kurt’s favorite apricot preserves, a large mug of coffee, and a bud vase with a single white calla lily.

“Oh,” Kurt says, momentarily taken by surprise. He struggles to sit up so that Blaine can put the tray on his lap.

“I hope that’s a good ‘oh’,” Blaine says as he reshuffles the pillows behind Kurt’s back to prop him up.

Kurt nods and touches the waxy petal of the flower. “Yes, of course.” He reminds himself of the date and searches his memory to figure out what important event he’s forgotten. He comes up with a blank. “It’s just not my birthday. Or our anniversary.”

“Nope.” Blaine smiles at him and walks around the bed to sit cross-legged on the other side, facing him.

“Then - ?” Kurt waves his hand at the tray. “What am I forgetting?”

“Nothing,” Blaine says. “It’s just Thursday.”

“We’re celebrating Thursday?”

Blaine nods, picks up the mug, and hands it to him. “Drink.”

Kurt does, and the warmth of the coffee floods through him. His toes curl beneath the covers with pleasure. “Thank you. Why are we celebrating Thursday?”

“Do you remember your last birthday?” Blaine reaches out and snags a piece of toast, biting off a corner.

“Vaguely. I worked a twelve hour day, and you had late rehearsal for that awful production.”

“And our anniversary?” Blaine asks around another mouthful.

“Mid-terms.”

“Thanksgiving?”

“The flu.” Kurt takes another long, luxurious sip of coffee and sighs with contentment; Blaine’s eyes crinkle like he’s satisfied by Kurt’s reaction. “Both of us. We went through six boxes of tissues and two gallons of turkey noodle soup over the long weekend.”

“So,” Blaine says with a shrug, “since our big events seem to be made less fun by outside influences, I looked at our calendars, found a day we could both get free, and decided to celebrate Thursday.” He smiles widely and with only a hint of trepidation as he waves his hand at the tray and the room around them. “Happy Thursday?”

Kurt’s breath catches at the thought behind it all, the thought of Blaine carving out a special day for the two of them, and he sets his coffee on the bedside table so that he can cup Blaine’s jaw and pull him in for a soft kiss. They’ve been together through two states, three schools, and countless stresses, and yet Blaine can still make his heart flutter with a simple smile and a sweet gesture the same way it did the very first time they kissed.

“Happy Thursday,” he says against Blaine’s toothpaste-flavored mouth. He feels Blaine relax against him, like he was worried that _this_ would be the one crazy thing he did that Kurt wouldn’t be able to roll with. “Have I mentioned recently that I find you incredibly charming?”

“Not _recently_ ,” Blaine says, drawing back to smile at him some more.

“Hmm.” Kurt picks up a piece of toast and smears some marmalade on the tip. “I’ll have to remedy that one of these days.” He takes a bite and enjoys the rueful grin that appears on Blaine’s face.

“Maybe I should try harder.” Blaine takes the toast from Kurt’s hand and holds it up to his mouth for him to take another bite. Kurt grins back and does, and then he finds it incredibly hard to swallow when Blaine licks off the marmalade left on Kurt’s fingers with gentle flicks of his tongue. He has a hasty sip of coffee to choke down the bread.

“Yes, that would have been romantic,” Kurt says, clearing his throat before taking another drink. “The potential for asphyxiation always spices up breakfast in bed.”

“Are you kidding me?” Blaine replies. “I could have performed mouth-to-mouth. Romantic _and_ heroic.”

Kurt laughs, the fondness inside of him bubbling over. He shakes his head. “I revise my statement. You are charming but ridiculous.”

Blaine offers him another bite of toast, his eyes twinkling. “And you love it.”

“I do.” Chewing and swallowing more successfully this time, Kurt stretches out his legs and lolls back against the plump pillows. He breathes deeply, comfortable and happy, and reaches out a hand to rest it on Blaine’s knee. He rubs the familiar knob of bone there through the soft material of Blaine’s sweatpants. “Don’t take this in any way personally, but I could just go back to sleep.”

“You could,” Blaine tells him. “The coffee is decaf.”

Kurt’s eyes, which had started to drift shut, snap open with horror. “You gave me coffee _without caffeine_?”

“Well,” Blaine says with a slow and entirely unapologetic grin, “I was hoping to convince you to stay in bed. If you wanted.”

A flare of heat flickers to life in Kurt’s stomach, and he draws the tips of his fingers down Blaine’s arm, leaving goosebumps to rise in their wake. “I think I’m done with breakfast. You may clear the dishes.”

Blaine jumps up off the bed and whisks away the tray and its contents. He leaves the coffee, though, and Kurt takes another sip, despite wondering what the point of decaf really is. Then he rearranges the pillows so they’re in their usual sleeping positions instead of propping him up, and he slides down beneath the duvet. It’s so comfortable, even better than he’d imagined when he’d picked out all of the bedding. It had clearly been worth the extra expense for the thread count and the extra fill of down in the duvet. He feels like he’s wrapped in a soft, cozy cloud.

He isn’t sure if Blaine takes longer than expected or if he’s just that tired, but Kurt finds himself pulled back from drifting off when Blaine slips into bed beside him.

“Mmm, I knew this was a good idea,” Blaine says, curling around him from behind and wrapping his arm around Kurt’s waist, his hand on Kurt’s stomach.

Kurt is warm and so, so relaxed, and the world starts to go fuzzy around him again. “The very best. Every day should be a Thursday. Or at least once a week.”

Blaine chokes back a sound and then gives up and laughs aloud, and Kurt kicks out, hitting Blaine’s shin with his heel.

“Ow,” Blaine says against Kurt’s shoulder, still chuckling.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“You left yourself wide open.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“And here I thought when you invited me back to bed we were going to do something other than sleep.” Blaine’s fingers sneak under the hem of Kurt’s shirt, stroking his stomach in light, teasing touches that make Kurt’s breath hitch.

Kurt presses the side of his face deeper into the pillow. “That was before you made fun of me.”

“Maybe I can make it up to you.” Blaine’s mouth presses slow, wet kisses to Kurt’s throat as his hand moves down into his loose sleep pants.

“Oh,” Kurt says as Blaine’s fingers circle his waking erection. Suddenly sleep doesn’t seem like such an immediate need. “Oh, yes.”

"You like that?" Blaine asks, slowly stroking Kurt to full hardness. He knows just how to touch him, not too tight but not at all lazy, sure and steady but not demanding.

"You ask the strangest questions," Kurt tells him. His voice is already turning husky, and he tilts his head without thinking as Blaine kisses beneath his ear.

Blaine curls closer around him, pressing snugly against his back; the feel of his warm, firm body makes Kurt’s pulse speed. “How is that a strange question?” Blaine’s words reverberate against and into Kurt’s skin.

“How can you not know I like that?” Kurt’s hips hitch, and he lets himself go with the instinct, thrusting gently through Blaine’s fingers in time with his stroking. It feels decadent and so very easy with the covers a cozy cocoon over them and Blaine’s breath hot in his ear. “Can’t you tell?”

“I’m kind of focused on how much _I_ like it.” And then for some awful reason Blaine lets go of Kurt’s erection and sits up. Kurt’s protest dies in his throat, though, when Blaine strips his own t-shirt over his head with an impatient yank and tugs at Kurt’s to pull it off. Then they’re both back under the duvet, bare skin against bare skin, and Blaine’s pushing his hand into Kurt’s pants again.

“Oh,” Kurt says, arching back into him and going a little light-headed at how little give there is to Blaine’s body. He’s so solid and _there_ , just like he is in the rest of their relationship. He’s there, he’s there, he’s always there, right where Kurt needs him. “You are the best thing in the entire world.”

Blaine’s grip tightens, and he nips at Kurt’s earlobe. “Shh,” he says, stroking him harder, and Kurt bites his lip with the pleasure of it. He can hear the fabric rustling around them, the duvet and his own clothing moving in time with Blaine’s hand, but the only sound that matters is Blaine’s voice. “This is supposed to be an apology. Let me.”

Kurt gives in and lets go of the thread of the conversation, focusing instead on the heat of Blaine’s body bleeding into him and the sure, steady ride of his arousal. Blaine murmurs his love against Kurt’s throat and shoulder in a dizzying blend of soft words and warm kisses. Kurt catches one kiss in five, one word in ten, but his body feels them all.

Blaine’s lips are like live wires, their touch completing a circuit of arousal in Kurt’s body in bright cascades of sparks. All the while, Blaine’s hand keeps moving, stroking, touching, drawing him further and further into the connection between them. Kurt feels incredible, all coiled desire and drifting clouds of pleasure. Blaine _makes_ him feel incredible.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, because for all that he’s losing his ability to focus he knows exactly whose hand is on him, whose mouth is at his throat, whose body is hard against his back, moving in shallow thrusts with him.

“I love touching you,” Blaine says, his voice hoarse but filled with wonder. “God, Kurt.”

He starts to twists his wrist on the upstroke, and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and jerks into it as the world starts to narrow down to a single, bright point of pleasure expanding from the base of his spine. “ _Oh._ Like that. Don’t stop. Please, Blaine. Just like that. I can come just like that,” Kurt gasps, curling his fingers into the pillow by his head, and he throbs in Blaine’s grip.

Blaine makes this amazing guttural moan and says, “No, let me - ” Pulling over Kurt onto his back, Blaine tosses the covers aside and drags Kurt’s sleep pants down to mid-thigh before pressing his mouth hard and wet to Kurt’s stomach, his chest, and up to his mouth. One hand sinks into Kurt’s hair while the other strokes him fast and hard, not just urging but compelling him to give in and let go.

“I - I - “ Kurt snaps his hips up into Blaine’s hand and loses himself in the slick, practiced motion of those fingers around him, tight and generous and _perfect_. It feels so good, all of Blaine’s attention just for _him_ , and when his own rhythm falters Blaine is there to keep it going. Kurt twists up, trying to get a little bit _more_ , and then he’s coming in great pulsing waves of sensation. He grabs at Blaine’s hair and sobs his heaving breaths into Blaine’s mouth as Blaine strokes and strokes more pleasure out of him until he feels wrung out and desperate all at the same time.

“Kurt. Fuck, Kurt.” Blaine kisses him so hard Kurt’s lips are left feeling bruised and raw, but Kurt doesn’t care because every last part of him is Blaine’s.

“Come on,” Kurt tells him as the word still spins dizzily around him. He tugs Blaine toward him as best he can with hands he can barely control. “It’s okay.”

Blaine pushes down his own clothes and rolls on top of him, sliding his erection with a relieved and yet hungry groan through the slippery mess on Kurt’s stomach. “I need - “ he pants against Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt settles his hands low on Blaine’s back and pulls him closer, rocking up against him as his own tremors continue in easing, rippling waves. “Anything. Come on, Blaine.”

Kissing him wildly, Blaine thrusts out his desire against Kurt’s body, and the familiar dirty twist of his hips and the strength of his muscles beneath Kurt’s palms make Kurt arch up and spasm a few more times, dry and a little painful but so good he can feel it all the way in his _scalp_ , tingling and flaring with raw pleasure. He digs his fingers in as the sparks dance through him, and his whimpers are drowned out by Blaine crying out and spilling between them.

It takes a few minutes of clumsy caresses and imprecise kisses on both of their parts before they’re pulled together enough to sort themselves out. Blaine can’t seem to stop stroking over Kurt’s shoulder and arm, and Kurt presses his mouth again and again to Blaine’s temple, his arms as tight as they can manage around his back. They breathe together and nuzzle with soft, wordless murmurs, reassurance and satisfaction all at once.

As much as Kurt doesn’t adore being all sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids, these fuzzy minutes after they’re both sated are one of his favorite parts of having sex with Blaine. There’s nothing but the two of them and the pure affection that ties them together. There’s no to do list or hair to fix, no homework or laundry, no burning desire for life or Blaine driving him on; there’s just Blaine’s weight, his sweat, his skin, and his perfect mouth, all right there with him, all Kurt needs.

But they do start to grow cold and unpleasantly wet, and Blaine, ever the gentleman, wipes them both off with his t-shirt, adjusts their clothing, and pulls up the covers over them while Kurt admires the lines and movements of his body through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Come here," Kurt says, opening his arms and feeling the same sense of rightness when Blaine slips into his embrace as a lock must feel when turned by the proper key. He rolls onto his side and spoons up behind him, burying his nose in Blaine's sweat-damp curls. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you," Blaine replies. "That felt really good. You felt really good. You always do." He yawns and turns his face into the pillow.

Kurt smiles and closes his eyes, squeezing Blaine gently. "You, too. Like right now. Now is nice."

“You just like holding onto something when you sleep.”

“No, I like holding onto _you_ ,” Kurt says. “And that’s really the pot calling the kettle black, hmm?”

“Are we starting this argument again?” Blaine asks.

Kurt chuckles and lets himself sink deeper into the mattress. “Maybe we’ll skip it this once. Agree to disagree. I haven’t had my caffeine, after all.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“I don’t,” Kurt says. “I really don’t.” There’s no way he could mind. He has Blaine in his arms, and they’re both happy and lazy with pleasure. They have time together, this special day and every single day.

Kurt wants a lot of things in his life - fame, respect, his name in lights, more than one Tony award, an apartment with a park view and huge windows through which to enjoy it, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a dedicated parking space, at least ten linear feet of countertop in the kitchen, an endless wardrobe budget - but he knows at times like this that the thing he wants most is what he already has: Blaine. Blaine’s love and Blaine himself. Dorky, sweet, charismatic, talented, caring, ridiculous Blaine. The rest will be amazing, but it’ll be even better because Blaine will be there with him.

Kurt knows they’re young. He knows a lot will happen in the next few years, and it won’t all be easy for them. He knows they both have a lot of growing to do. But he also knows with the same sureness he has when he stands on stage and holds the audience with the power of his voice that they’re going to make it. He _knows_ it, because in moments like this there’s nothing else they need.

“Happy Thursday, Blaine,” he murmurs into Blaine’s hair and threads their fingers together on Blaine’s stomach.

“Happy Thursday,” Blaine replies drowsily, and it’s easy, so perfectly easy, for Kurt to snuggle down against him, shut out the rest of the world, and drift off into sleep.


End file.
